My True Love Sent To Me
by C.Queen
Summary: Crowley is not particularly fond of Christmas. Nor is he expecting for a deliveryman to show up at his door with a pear tree. A pear tree with a stuffie shaped like a partridge on it. A stuffie! He wasn't expecting the 'turtledoves' either. But he's starting to see a trend now. What is that angel thinking?
1. The First, Second, Third and Fourth Days

Disclaimer: As always I own nothing but the original characters and the situations the characters find themselves in. Thanks so much for continuing to read and for giving me feedback on my work. It's muchly appreciated and I do read every review you send me!

The First, Second, Third and Fourth Days of Christmas

First Day of Christmas

The demon known as Crowley was stretched out in his desk chair, his arms rising above his head as he absently considered his next bit of fun. He had narrowed down his choices to three when his attention was caught by a knock at his door. A very unexpected knock as the demon was not expecting anyone and that was most definitely not Aziraphale's overly cheerful, happy knock. No, this was decidedly businesslike and rather commanding. Crowley did not take well to being commanded to do anything. Especially by mere mortals stupid enough to come to his door. If his unexpected guest was in fact mortal of course. That remained to be seen.

Snake eyes flashing as he pushed back his chair Crowley got to his feet and sauntered over to his front door, waiting until the second knock came before asking who it was.

"I have a delivery here for Mr. Anthony Crowley. Are you he?"

"I didn't order anything."

"Well given the date and what it is-I'm guessing it's a gift or someone's idea of a good joke. We all got a good laugh over it back at the shop."

Curious now, and trusting his instincts, Crowley unlocked the door and opened it, gaze skimming over the middle aged human on his doorstep for a moment before his attention was drawn to the item the man had apparently come to deliver to him.

A tree? With a...

"What is that?" Moving in Crowley attempted to pull the item off the top of the tree, vaguely annoyed when it proved to be tied firmly in place. Who in their right mind would send him a baby tree with a stuffed animal shaped like a bird on it?

"It's a partridge in a pear tree." The man blurted out, like he'd been waiting hours for the chance to tell him that. "Like in the song. It's twelve days till Christmas."

Straightening up to his full height Crowley took a moment to consider this. A pear tree. With a stuffed bird on it. Meant to parody that incredibly annoying Christmas song that somehow his side wasn't responsible for. Or at least no demon had taken credit for it as far as Crawley was aware. Unlike many other earworm Christmas carols.

What the Hell?

"Who's it from?"

"I'm afraid I don't know, Sir. That wasn't in the paperwork I was given. I need your signature."

Taking the offered clipboard Crowley absently scrawled something and handed it back, his eyes never leaving the tree.

"Right. Happy Christmas. I hope you get the other eleven. Wouldn't that be brilliant?"

Crowley leveled the man with a look that even through his tinted lens had the man's smile freezing on his pudgy face.

Moving snake quick Crowley wrapped his right hand around the trunk of the tree, lifted it up, and carried it into his place, kicking his door shut behind him.

Then holding it up so that he could look at it more closely Crowley scowled at it.

"I don't know who thought it was funny to send you to me...but you damn well better start growing, you worthless pear tree. I don't even like pears that much, so if you don't grow a good foot very soon...well then I'll make an example of you, you fruity bastard. You'll never see New Years."

And so saying Crowley headed off to place his newest acquisition with his other plants.

)

Second Day of Christmas

Shaking the slush like rain off his umbrella while aiming the spray directly onto the fancy woolen coat of a businessman marching down the street like he owned it, Crowley took a moment to admire the splatter pattern before turning to let himself into the post office. Excellent. Imagining the man's reaction when he noticed the stained coat almost made up for the horror Crowley had just experienced at his 'favorite' tea shop. Ugh. He hated people when they were suffering from the infamous 'Christmas spirit'. They were so much more annoying than usual. Not to mention the fact that they couldn't seem to help themselves, pushing peppermint this or gingerbread that on unsuspecting people who just wanted their bloody tea and chocolate biscuit as per usual, damn you very much.

Muttering under his breath Crowley turned his attention to navigating through the crowd to get to his postal box so that he could get this over with.

Aziraphale had rung him last night, gushing over the Christmas card he'd received from Warlock and the boy's family. Naturally he'd wanted to make sure Crowley had gotten his, like it really mattered. Crowley had helped raise the boy after all, and had no delusions whatsoever that the boy knew what the card looked like, much less had signed it. It would be the standard card they received every year since the first. The only difference would be the family photo inside, which Crowley knew Aziraphale kept for some inexplicable, no doubt angelic reason.

Pulling out his key Crowley opened his box up, eyebrows rising at how full the thing was. When was the last time he'd picked up his mail, anyway? Oh well. Didn't matter.

Grabbing it all-he'd make those who'd sent him junk mail sorry-Crowley was surprised to find a package mixed in with the envelopes. A package? What the Hell? Especially after yesterday when he'd got the...

Mind immediately casting around for what was given on the second day of Christmas Crowley bit back a snarl when the answer came to him. Turtledoves. Doves. A symbol of You Know Who.

It was tempting to throw the package in the rubbish bin right then and there. Of course said bin was already overflowing with discarded envelopes and such. The majority of it all recyclable. But who cared about ending the planet? Certainly not the human race.

Hmmm. No, he'd hold onto the package until he got home. Breaking the figurine or whatever it was would be more satisfying.

Shoving the package into his coat pocket Crowley turned his attention to flipping through the rest of his mail, mentally rolling his eyes over the various begging letters meant to solicit money from him for various charities and causes. Ah, Christmas. One of the few times a year people actually gave money to these people. Turning Scrooges into Cratchits. For a few days at least.

The expected letter from America also went into Crowley's pocket, the rest he delightedly added to the overflowing rubbish bin on the way out.

Returning home without incident Crowley tossed his umbrella to the side, hung up his coat, and then retrieved the letter and package before walking into his 'office' area.

Dropping down into his chair Crowley opened the card first, mentally rolling his eyes over the generic Christmas scene on the front of it and the message inside. He did rather like the malice gleam in Warlock's eyes in the photo though. It suggested that people were going to be made to pay for forcing him to be in that photo. Lovely.

He might actually keep that photo.

Setting it aside Crowley turned his attention to the package, ripping it open with a dark, anticipatory gleam in his eyes. Inside was a small box, which when opened revealed a folded piece of paper resting on top of whatever was underneath it. Picking up the paper Crowley found himself looking at a message written with a fountain pen, the lettering very formal and rather awkward looking. Like the writer has labored over each letter.

'As Long as Each of You Have Your Turtledoves, You'll be Friends Forever.'

Why did that sound familiar...

HOME ALONE II! His favorite Christmas movies ever! The ONLY Christmas movies he could stand to watch!

Well except for the whole stepping on the nail scene. Crowley would admit, if only to himself, that that always turned his stomach a bit.

And looking down Crowley saw that there were indeed two white turtledove figurines left in the box, identical to the ones from the movie.

"Who would..."

Aziraphale. This was so Aziraphale. If not for how badly the angel felt for the plants in Crowley's care he would have figured it out the day before.

"Well Hell. I'm going to have to keep you now."

)

Third Day of Christmas

Staring at his laptop the next day as he researched pear trees-he'd never owned or cared for one before-Crowley was about to scroll down a little further when there came a knocking at his door. Again. Not the same person though, this knock a great deal lighter and delivered by someone shorter. But not Aziraphale either. Hmmm. It was also, after a quick glance at the time, approximately the same time as his previous at home delivery. Interesting. Very interesting. Though possibly a trap as well. Someone trying to lure him into complacency so he didn't expect some ill thought trap from the bastards' downstairs. Or upstairs for that matter.

He was pretty sure his angel was behind all of this, but he wasn't one hundred percent sure. And he had a LOT of mortal AND immortal enemies.

Again walking over to the door Crowley found himself forced to repeat his inquiry from the day before as he demanded to know who it was.

"I have a delivery here for a Mr. Crowley. From 'Delicacies and Delights'."

Delicacies and Delights? Where had he heard that name before? It sounded familiar. Like he'd heard the name before somewhere. Perhaps it was situated somewhere close by? Or near Aziraphale's bookshop. Heaven help his angel if it was the latter. The man would be in the place every day with his sweet tooth.

Right. Aziraphale. What was his angel thinking?

Unlocking and then opened the door Crowley found himself looking at a beaming, alarmingly perky looking woman in her early twenties. She obviously worked for the shop in question, her shirt advertised that fact, and in her hands she held a white bakery box decorated with mistletoe and holly, wrapped up in a red bow.

"Happy Christmas, Mr. Crowley!"

"I don't celebrate it." Which he didn't. "What's in the box?"

"Oh." Smiling dimming a little the woman looked down at the box. "I don't know, actually. I'm holiday help, you see. But I'm sure whatever it is will put a smile on your face. I heard that Gemma made this, and she's utterly brilliant, Sir. Really."

"Fine. Hand it over."

"Here you go." Bouncing back with an even bigger smile than before-how did her mouth not split open like she had a 'Glasgow Smile'?-the girl handed over the box. "I hope you enjoy your Christmas treat and Happy Holidays!"

And demonstrating that her self-preservation instincts were strong despite her perkiness the girl flashed him one last smile before running off with a cheerful wave over her shoulder.

"Bah Humbug!" Crowley called after her, hating for her to have the last word.

No response came, and satisfied with that Crowley went back inside his place, nimbly balancing the bakery box in one hand while closing his door and locking it up with the other. That done Crowley shook the box a little, his ears picking up things shifting inside of it. Three French hens? Though really, how was that possible?

Just a little eager to find out Crowley carried the box over to his desk, set it down, and then removed the bow with impatient fingers. That done he very carefully opened the box so that the lid was facing him. Just in case something was going to spray out at him. Like Holy Water.

But nothing happened and fairly sure that it was safe Crowley rounded the desk and leaned over to get a look at his 'Hens'.

And promptly broke out into delighted laughter at what he saw.

Cancan dancers. Gingerbread biscuits shaped like chickens doing the bloody cancan!

Well not chickens, hens. Of all the...

"Clever. Very clever, Angel."

And grinning like an idiot Crowley retrieved his phone from his pocket so that he could get a picture of them before he ate one.

While looking up the bloody song so that he would have some idea what was-

"Well fuck me."

He might not remember the song that well, but Crowley was fairly sure that the following day he would be sent 'Four calling birds'. And that the day after that...well the day after that was 'Five Golden Rings', wasn't it?

"I need to sit down."

)

Fourth Day of Christmas

For hours the previous day, not to mention all bloody, fucking morning today since he'd woken up, Crowley had debated ringing Aziraphale up and demanding to know just what the angel was up to with these presents. Like, just for starters, why he was doing this in the first place. Because they did not do this. They had never, ever, given each other presents or celebrated Christmas together. Never once. About the only thing that Aziraphale had ever given him that wasn't to be consumed was the bloody Holy Water. Holy Water!

Things had been different since they'd saved the world together, yes. They'd been spending more time together and Aziraphale had even called him his friend a few times. Without stuttering and only the minimum of blushing, even.

Did friends go to this much trouble, though? And why was Aziraphale doing this all anonymously? Why not just send Crowley a single present like any normal person would?

No, scratch that part. Aziraphale would never be normal and probably thought this was all quite delightful and clever of him. Like it wouldn't be glaringly obvious who was sending the presents seeing as Aziraphale was literally the ONLY friend Crowley had.

Shaking his head over how stupid his mostly clever angel could be Crowley had no idea what he was supposed to do about any of this. Especially since he didn't want to ruin Aziraphale's enjoyment of all this by clueing the angel in to the fact that it was blatantly obvious he was Crowley's true-

Cheeks flushing at the thought, Crowley reminded himself very strongly that no, he was not Aziraphale's true love. That wasn't why the angel was sending him these things. Aziraphale probably just liked the stupid song or poem or whatever you wanted to call it. That was it. That was it and to think-hope-otherwise would be more foolish than...

A knock on the door.

"Oh, fuck!"

Cursing under his breath the entire way to his front door Crowley didn't even bother to ask who it was. He just unlocked the door and whipping it open stuck his head out and snarled, "WHAT?!' at the man who stood outside his door.

And scowled right back at him.

"Look, I'm just doing my job, Mate. Do you want your friggin delivery or not?"

Blinking in surprise, the burly looking man's glare was actually rather impressive, Crowley found himself shifting gears. Not enough to apologize of course, but still...

"You're sick of deliveries too?"

"You have no idea." Was the man's growly response. "Everyone complaining, thinking they're the bloody queen of England or something. Getting all miffed if so much as a drop of rain gets on their box. In fucking winter. Have you seen what it's like out there today? And the more money they've got the more tight fisted they are about the tip. If they tip. Every damn one of them. Acting like you'll steal something if you step foot in their fuck ugly mausoleums. Ugh. Though the worst are the perky ones. All hyped up on the season and not respecting a bloke's God given right to be surely when he's made to work day and night making deliveries to Hell and back. Cause no one can be bothered to go to a shop and buy things in person no more. Lazy bastards."

"You can't go anywhere at all, the whole of December." Crowley stated with a grimace of his own. "It's like everyone in the Western World loses what little sense they had to begin with. Spending ten minutes in a shop is bloody torture, what with the carols and no one capable of keeping their mouths shut for two minutes. And believe me, I know torture!"

The two of them shared such a look of total agreement that Crowley almost, almost felt bad about not apologizing.

"Well at least you can drink your pain away. I can't touch the stuff till Christmas. Can't drive under the influence after all. That's all I need. Going home to the missus to tell her I've gone and lost my license." The deliveryman shook his head. "Right. Where do you want them?"

Having forgotten all about the purpose of the man's visit Crowley looked around and spotted the cooler like container. Like a cross between a cooler and the bag delivery people used for takeaway, actually.

"I don't suppose you know what's in there, do you?"

"You don't?"

"No. A-a good friend of mine decided to send me presents representing the twelve days of Christmas. Like the song. Today should be four calling birds."

The man frowned as he asked what calling birds were, anyway.

"It's another way of saying songbirds." He'd looked it up.

"Huh." The delivery guy scratched the back of his head for a moment, looking at the container in confusion. "Well there are four of em but I don't see how..." Trailing off the man's face blanked for a moment, brows furrowing, and then his face literally lit up with understanding. "Oh that's brilliant, that is. I get it now."

"Get what?"

"I'll show ya."

Crouching down the man unzipped the top of the container and pushed it back to reveal the fact that there were four-were those wine bottles? What the hell did wine have to do with birds?

Removing the foamy thing that divided the bottles the deliveryman pulled one out, turned it around in his hand, and then straightened back up to his full height.

Beaming like a kid the man held the bottle out so that Crowley could see the wine bottle's label.

"The labels all have birds on em. Birds that sing."

Taking the bottle Crowley stared at the image of a bird for a minute, then had to shake his head in loving affection.

"Well done, Angel. Well done."


	2. Fifth, Sixth and Seventh Days

Disclaimer: As always I own nothing but the original characters and the situations the characters find themselves in. Thanks so much for continuing to read and for giving me feedback on my work. It's muchly appreciated and I do read every review you send me!

Fifth, Sixth and Seventh Day of Christmas

It was a bloody good thing that Crowley had the ability to control the affect alcohol had on him the following day or he'd have woken with the worst hangover since...well possibly ever. And that was saying something. Damn but he'd drunk-well it was probably for the best that he couldn't quite remember just how much alcohol he'd consumed in his quest to blot out the question of just what would come in the mail or delivery the following day. Five golden rings. Rings. Aziraphale was going to be sending him FIVE rings and...AND...Rings.

They would be normal rings of course. No doubt the sort sold for a few pounds at some shop that catered to teenagers and-but no. No it wouldn't be. Not Aziraphale. Not his angel.

He angel would find the idea of those rings horribly gaudy and distasteful. Would likely go into a rant about how no one made anything to last anymore or respected the quality and workmanship of the great craftsmen of centuries passed. Aziraphale didn't do trendy or fashionable either. He did classic and tasteful.

But surely the angel wouldn't go out and spend hundreds of pounds on rings. Especially-well they'd just be ordinary rings that anyone might wear. No special meaning behind them. That you could practically take as gospel.

Right? Right.

But what if...what if they weren't normal, everyday rings? What if...

He needed more liquor. A lot more liquor.

Just not, not the wine Aziraphale had sent him, Crowley thought as his eyes landed on those particular bottles. He was saving those. For a special occasion. And who would ever be crazy enough to try and get drunk off of wine, anyway? That was silly. He hadn't been around as long as he had and not learned a thing or two about booze and what worked best when one wanted to get absolutely pissed.

Only...he should be sober, shouldn't he?

Damn.

Regardless it was for the best that he'd slept in so that he only spent about four hours obsessing over rings and alcohol before there came a knocking at his door.

"While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,  
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.  
"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door—  
Only this and nothing more."

Crowley muttered the lines from the famous Edgar Allan Poe poem to himself as he turned his head to look in the direction of the door in question. He was also possibly looking at it rather like it was the raven, come to bedevil him and mock his pain over the loss of his love.

Technically the poem was more popular at Halloween, but it took place in December so Crowley figured that it worked regardless. And fit his mood even though technically he had no lost Lenore to mourn even if he did know something about loving someone who was out of his reach.

Fuck.

The knocking came again.

Distracting himself by reciting the poem in his head-he enjoyed Poe's work-Crowley stalked over to the door and threw it open, slumping against the door frame as he stared at the blank space in front of him.

No one was there.

Stepping out into the hallway Crowley looked left and then right, eyes glowing behind his glasses as he flicked his tongue out, tasting the air and-ah. Yes. Aziraphale. Aziraphale had been here and now wasn't. Which meant...

Turning around Crowley spotted the bright red gift bag hanging off the handle of his door.

Warily poking at the bag for a minute Crowley finally used a single finger to slide under the bag's string and lift it up from its resting place. Then he glared at it for a couple of minutes more before he told himself to just get it over with and open it. Prolonging this would only make it worse. Somehow. Possibly.

He should probably go back inside first, though.

Of course once he was back inside Crowley found himself staring at the bag in silence like it might at any moment expel Holy Water all over him.

How long he stood there staring at it...well Crowley hoped never to know. He wasn't sure his pride could take it.

But eventually, after quite a lot of inner monologuing, Crowley forced himself to reach into the bag and pulled out a square, purplish blue box. One with a very well-known jeweler's mark stamped on the front of it. Fuck.

Pulling off the lid and tossing it to the floor in a fit of pique Crowley stared at the folded bit of paper that rested on top of whatever else the box held. A piece of paper he shoved in his pocket to read after as he stared down at the four rings that lay nestled in their satin bed.

Four?

Crowley's brows furrowed as he stared at the space where a fifth ring could have gone...but wasn't. Instead it served as a gap between the four rings, which were-pairs?

Walking over to his couch on autopilot Crowley sat down slash collapsed onto the piece of furniture, his hand actually shaking as he pulled the first ring out. The ring, he noted, that was engraved inside.

"Friends Forever." Crowley read outloud, the words bittersweet as he stared at the elegant lettering engraved on the simple gold ring. "Of course."

Shaking his head, he should have known, Crowley pulled out the next ring which proved to have the same words engraved within it, though the sizing-yes-upon comparison Crowley saw that the two rings were sized for different fingers. Had Aziraphale seriously bought him two of each design because he didn't know what-oh. Right. One for him and the other for his 'friend'.

But what of the other two rings? And the missing one.

Carefully setting the two rings back in their cushion Crowley picked up the next one, the design etched into the ring giving him pause. Two sets of wings. Their wings. The tips of those wings just touching on either side.

Very Aziraphale.

And also engraved.

"Forever and Always."

It was about two hours later that Crowley got around to reading the piece of paper that had come with the rings. Written in the same hand as the note from before was a promise that 'The Fifth Ring is Still to Come'.

)

Sixth Day of Christmas

Crowley was in full demon mode the following morning. He was ready to dissect, dismember and disembowel anyone that crossed him. Or came to his door with a delivery. Definitely then. He felt like an animal with its leg caught in a trap, unable to get free and stuck lurking in his flat while he paced and waited for the knock to come. Knowing it would come and that when it did...well when it did the pain would only become worse and drive him further and further into feral madness.

He was sleep deprived, hungover, hungry, and...and aching. Every bone, every muscle, every fiber of his being ached. Especially his head as he'd spent hours upon hours speculating about what Aziraphale had meant by the inscription in the second pair of rings and the reason behind the missing fifth ring. Not to mention the question of why the angel was sending him these presents in the first place and what...what was he supposed to think. To do?

Why was Aziraphale doing this to him? What had he done to deserve this? Okay. Scratch that last part. He was a demon after all.

Scrubbing his hands over his face Crowley froze at the sound of a knock at the door.

A truly evil smile curled Crowley's lips.

"Finally."

Marching over to the door Crowley unlocked it with rough gestures, the locks clicking and giving way with ease. Then he jerked the door open and Crowley opened his own mouth with the intention of ripping into the unfortunate person waiting there.

So of course there was a small child standing there wearing a Santa hat.

"HAPPY CHRISTMAS, SIR!"

"Uh...hi."

Crowley slowly turned his head to look in the direction of the teenage boy standing beside the little girl. The teenager who'd spoken and apparently had finely honed self-preservation instincts given the way his voice had shook a little as he carefully moved to put himself between Crowley and the child who looked enough like the boy that odds were they were related.

"I-ah-I have your delivery. If you're Mr. Crowley. To save on shipping fees I deliver my stuff here in London myself and someone-I have a package for you."

"I'm helping." The little girl chirped, showing absolutely no self-preservation instinct at all as she leaned to the side so that she was visible. "You'll really like it. My brother made it himself."

Well damn.

Taking a deep breath-naturally he couldn't pray for strength-Crowley reined in his desire to maim and worked up a very strained smile that probably looked worse than it felt.

"Thank you."

Still visibly wary the brother murmured to his sister that he'd give Mr. Crowley his package, the sister hissing back that she wanted to do it.

Double damn.

"It's fine. I won't bite. Bad morning."

"Well this will cheer you up." The girl announced, successfully skirting around her brother who made a grab for her arm and missed. "Here you go."

Taking the candy cane stripped giftbag from her Crowley managed a rough thank you.

"Right. Bye, then." And so saying the teenager latching onto his sister's hand and tugged/dragged her down the hallway as fast as her legs could carry her. And all the while she waved wildly at him and again wished him a Happy Christmas and New Year.

Crowley wiggled his fingers in her direction. Reluctantly and with a sense of doom.

And once both children were in the lift and out of sight Crowley tilted his head back to glare up at the ceiling towards Heaven.

He didn't curse out God, what was the point after all, but he called Her a lot of not nice names in his mind before stomping back into his place and slamming his door hard enough that he broke it off its hinges.

"Fuck me."

Snapping his fingers to fix the damage and lock it back up Crowley shoved his hand into the bag, yanked out the useless tissue paper, and tossed it onto the floor before diving his hand back in to pull out whatever else was in the fecking bag and-cotton. Clothing of some sort?

Letting the bag go so that it dropped to the floor as well Crowley brought his fisted hand up to stare at as the folded piece of clothing unfolded and hung there limply in his grasp.

Glaring at it for a minute or so Crowley took another breath and then slowly shifted his grip, using both hands to hold the black T-shirt up and facing him so that he could see what was printed on the front of it.

"Well damn."

The majority of the shirt was a framed picture of a cartoon version of Veruca Salt from the nineteen seventies version of 'Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory'. She was depicted as covered with garbage and the frame around her featured golden eggs...and geese. Six geese a laying.

Above the frame in capital letters were the words, 'SHE HAD IT COMING.'

"It's my side that's not supposed to fight fair, Dammit!"

)

Seventh Day of Christmas

Crowley was in a foul mood the next day even before he returned to his flat to find that Aziraphale had called and left him a message. A message. Which had come in while Crowley was at McDonalds for his weekly lunch there. And given that he always went to the same one, at the same time so that he missed the brats from the nearby school when they came to feed...it had to be deliberate. Aziraphale had deliberately avoided having to talk to him and had in fact not so much as made a peep in Crowley's direction in nearly twelve days.

Not that he was counting.

So really it would serve the angel right if Crowley ignored the contents of the message or pretended that he hadn't seen that he had a message until it was too late. Really that was exactly what Aziraphale deserved.

But what if all this secrecy and such was wearing on the angel? What if he wanted to confess to Crowley that he'd been the one to send him all these ridiculous gifts? God and her minions were big on confessing their sins after all. Not that Aziraphale probably even realized all the torment he was causing him. Would probably be appalled if he did know.

He really should tell him, Crowley told himself. Even though he knew he wouldn't. Couldn't.

And what if...just what if...Aziraphale wanted to give him the fifth ring? In person.

"God, I really am pathetic."

He needed to go out and eat more seriously unhealthy food in front of people exercising. Or send some rich people pictures of themselves and their spouses before they'd used their money to change their faces. Remind them that they'd still be stuck with ugly children before their offspring were old enough to go under the knife too. Or hey, speaking of children, maybe he could go buy some BB guns and give them to children to shoot their eyes out with.

Now that was a demon's idea of getting into the holiday spirit.

Just imagining Aziraphale's reaction if he were to ring him up and tell him he was too busy buying guns for minors to meet him at their bench this afternoon...Fuck. Aziraphale would be so sad and disappointed. And that was before he realized Crowley was serious about the guns.

Also dammit, normally he was the one to arrange their meetings. He had always been the one who had always made sure that they bumped into each other as often as they did. If he said no today...would Aziraphale hesitate to ask next time?

Dammit.

He was going.

And so three hours later Crowley found himself stomping over to their bench where Aziraphale sat waiting for him, the angel wearing a red, white and green striped scarf and a poinsettia pin on the lapel of his elegant white winter coat.

The smile the angel beamed in his direction left Crowley damn near breathless as he actually stumbled for a moment before catching himself.

Aziraphale's smile immediately fell away as he hastily got to his feet. "Oh dear! Are you all right? Did you step on some ice? You didn't twist your ankle, did you?"

"I'm fine, Angel." Waving away Aziraphale's concern Crowley took his habitable seat, which had already been cleared off for him of course. "So what's up?"

Wiggling with glee, because of course he was, Aziraphale pulled out a simple paper bag from his coat pocket with a completely unnecessary flourish. "Ta da. Roasted chestnuts!"

Okay...

"Not following you, Angel."

"Roasted chestnuts. Christmas. The old 'Chestnuts roasting on an open fire.'"

"'Jack Frost nipping at your nose." Crowley stated, not singing the words the way Aziraphale had. "I know."

"It's not cold enough for us to get frostbite even if we weren't-well-us. And I haven't seen you in a while and I thought...oh look!"

With a sinking sense of dread Crowley slowly turned his head in the direction of the water where seven swans had appeared and were currently swimming. Or to be more accurate they were performing a synchronized swimming routine that soon had everyone with a phone nearby, which was everyone over the age of three, rushing in to record the unusual behavior.

And blocking their view of the swans in the process.

"But...but..."

Looking over at his sputtering angel Crowley couldn't stand the disappointment written all over Aziraphale's face even as he fought back a chuckle.

"Give me a chestnut."

Still looking very put out Aziraphale held out the bag so that Crowley could help himself.

"For the best, really. Swans are bloody vicious creatures, you know. If they decide to attack, we'll have plenty of time to get away."

"But they're such beautiful creatures." Aziraphale protested.

"Well I'd rather sit here with you and eat chestnut than watch birds any day."

"Oh."

Now looking both embarrassed and pleased Aziraphale gave him a shy smile and then helped himself to a chestnut of his own.

"So...anything new with you?"

"As a matter of fact. Seems I've picked up a secret admirer. Or someone trying and failing to play a rather expensive joke on me."

"Oh? Do tell."

"Well someone's been sending me gifts the last six days. All related to that '12 Days of Christmas' song. I assume you know it."

"I see. How strange that they would be sending you the gifts already. After all, technically speaking the 'first' day of Christmas is technically December twenty-fifth. Christmas Day. Though I suppose most people these days wouldn't know that. Just us old timers."

As Aziraphale nudged him teasingly with his elbow Crowley took a moment to search his memory, coming up blank. He'd probably had known that at some point but when one had been around for over six thousand years...well you did forget some things. Especially stupid human customs that were as silly as the fact that Christians stubbornly refused to acknowledge the fact that they were celebrating Jesus's birth on the wrong day. And month, for that matter.

Of course with the amount of things humans got wrong every single day of their short lives...Nevermind.

Either way it was obvious that Aziraphale had started the gift delivery early as a red herring. One that Crowley hadn't even picked on because, again, it was glaringly obvious that Aziraphale was the one sending him the presents in the first place.

But he couldn't say that, so instead Crowley allowed himself one sigh before stating that he had no idea who his mysterious gift giver was.

"Well I'm sure you'll figure it out."

"I'm sure I will."


	3. Eighth, Ninth and Tenth Day of Christmas

Disclaimer: As always I own nothing but the original characters and the situations all characters find themselves in. Thanks so much for reading, I really hope you leave me a review to let me know what you think. I do read them all!

Eighth, Ninth and Tenth Day of Christmas

Eighth Day of Christmas

The following day Crowley sat on his couch and sulked. And sulked. And sulked some more. And when he wasn't sulking the demon was glaring at the painting that he'd left propped up against the wall he was facing. The painting facing the wall so that he wouldn't have to look at the image of their park bench and the view they had from it. The presumably decoy painting he'd come home to yesterday after his meeting with Aziraphale in the park just so happened to feature two parent swans with three baby swans on the water...and a white and black swan on the other side of the painting, swimming companionably side by side together.

The oil had been beautifully rendered, the artist quite skilled in Crowley's opinion. It was the perfect present for Aziraphale to have given him, really. And that was one of the reasons it made Crowley so damn irritable.

Why hadn't the angel just given him the painting for Christmas and called it quits? It would have been perfect for the occasion, a nice if very angelic gesture, and it wouldn't have been that hard for him to conjure up something that Aziraphale would love in return and that would have been that. Maybe they'd start a holiday tradition of giving each other gifts, maybe not, but it would have been straightforward and expected and he'd know how the hell he was supposed to react to all of this.

The blinding anger was dimming, thankfully, but now Crowley was left feeling confused and out of sorts. Very out of sorts.

And curious as to just how the hell Aziraphale was going to pull off 'Eight maids a milking'.

Was he going to get eight cartons of milk? Did they even sell milk in glass bottles like they once had? Another picture? T-shirt? Decorative bowl?

It better not be a collection of figurines like you saw in the homes of old women who seemed determined to fill their homes to the brim with useless knickknacks. Often hideous knickknacks in the shape of animals and children smiling in demonic ways that made Crowley shudder every time he saw them.

Those Precious Moment figurines alone...Crowley cursed the demon who had put the idea of those things into that stupid mortal's head.

Please G-GAH. Nevermind.

Crowley shuddered over what he'd almost thought. Curse Aziraphale for doing things that made him tempted to mention She Who Should Not-well not actually curse Aziraphale. He'd end anyone who tried to actually curse his angel.

The sound of a knock at his door was a welcome relief.

"Let's get this over with, then."

Hopping to his feet Crowley forced himself to saunter towards the door like everyone was watching. He knew how to swagger, dammit. And he was not going to let anyone see how thoroughly one little angel had messed with his head.

Opening the door Crowley opened his mouth, but was given no chance to say anything as the frazzled man in a postal service uniform interrupted him.

"Mr. Crowley?"

"Yes."

"Here."

Taking the package thrust into his face Crowley snatched it before contact was made, eyes flashing behind his glasses at the insult of it.

"Happy Christmas." The man said in a toneless sort of voice that said he was saying it on autopilot and because it was expected. Then turning on his heels he headed off, Crowley allowing it only because-well because he'd probably do a Hell of a lot worse in the other man's shoes.

And he wanted to see what was in the box.

Going back inside Crowley retook his seat and then clawed a finger so that he could easily slice through the tape keeping the box closed. Opening the lid Crowley found himself looking at another piece of clothing that had been folded up to fit, though when he pulled this article out he found it made of silky material...and smaller. And intended for his lower half.

Briefs. Boxer briefs.

His angel had bought him PANTS.

Bright blue pants with...with milkmaids on them.

Aziraphale had sent him pants with eight women dressed as milkmaids, sitting on stools, while pulling on the udders of cows. And all the 'maids' were winking out at their 'audience'.

Did Aziraphale not get the underlining joke of these things?

Of course he didn't. This was Aziraphale he was thinking about. The angel had probably thought them adorable. Bought some for himself.

The mental images that brought to mind wiped Crowley's brain clean for a good two minutes at least before it restarted enough for him the go back to his main train of thought.

What the Hell was going on in his crazy angel's mind?!

)

Ninth Day of Christmas

The following day Crowley stood in front of his door and waited. And waited and waited. He had done the few chores he needed to do-scaring the shite out of his plants-aside from the pear tree-didn't take long-and now he was waiting for his next present with folded arms and a stoic façade reminiscent of a man being led to the gallows. He might not actually be British, but he'd lived in the country long enough to learn the whole 'stiff upper lip' mentality. Not that he normally employed it of course. He in fact took perverse pleasure in messing with the British and making them lose their cool completely.

But today Crowley had decided that he was going to be cool as a cucumber and then, after he saw whatever it was Aziraphale had gotten for him for 'nine ladies dancing' he was going to put it away and then-then he was going to devote the rest of his day to insuring that a number of people had a very unhappy Christmas. How he was going to do that Crowley wasn't entirely sure, but once he didn't have to worry about the latest present he was sure to think of something. A bunch of somethings. Some really creative, Grinch level somethings.

No, better than that. The Grinch had totally flaked at the end.

His heart would remain three sizes too small, Crowley assured himself. No golden haired sweetheart with a heart of gold was going to do him in. No siree. Never.

"Damn but I miss Jim Carrey's brilliance."

Mourning that loss, the man hadn't demonstrated his true comedic genius in years, Crowley took a moment to smile as he recalled some of his favorite works by the man before reminding himself that he needed to remain stony faced and prepared for anything.

Surely the angel wouldn't send him more underwear.

Oh please, oh please let him not send him more.

Once this was all over he and Aziraphale were going to have a long talk about how inappropriate it was to send someone pants like that. And pants in general. That was the sort of thing you gave your children or your lover. Or a mate as a joke which was probably why Aziraphale had sent him those particular briefs. They'd fit the eight milkmaids requirement and probably seemed funny to the innocent little angel who wouldn't have realized what the images were meant to insinuate and imply.

Aziraphale needed a keeper. He was too much for one demon to handle.

"Angel, My Arse. He could out bedevil anyone I know."

Ruminating over that for a while Crowley was ready to open the door as soon as the knock came, the woman on the other side looking just as worn down as the last one, though she worked up a smile for him as she held out a package for him.

"Well that was fast. Last minute gift you've been waiting for?"

"You could say that." Crowley drawled out as he took the package from her.

"Well glad it got here in time. Happy Christmas."

Nodding absently Crowley completely forgot all about the lovely insults and snide comments he'd had planned for the next delivery person as part of his Grinch mentality. And he'd come up with some good ones if he did say so himself.

But the name printed all over the package he'd just received had shocked him into silence.

The Disney Store.

Aziraphale had sent him something from DISNEY.

"That's just Evil."

Shuddering a little with the evilness of it all Crowley slowly made his way back into the safety of his home, the box tucked absently under his arm.

The question of what precisely was in the box naturally nagged at Crowley. Particularly since it wasn't that big of a box and surely not even Aziraphale would be foolish enough to think Crowley would ever desire a box containing nine Disney princesses...though maybe not. The man did love Disney movies after all. Really, he should have expected this.

It was tempting to throw the box onto the couch in a fit of pique, his fingers just itched to do it, but the box had also said fragile so Crowley forced himself to set it down on the table in front of the couch instead. Then taking a seat glared at it for a good three minutes before finally going to work ripping off the tape and then tossing all the packing peanuts and flyers out of his way until he could grab the wooden box that rested inside.

The lidded box, which was about the size of a rugby ball, was made with good quality wood and inlaid with carvings of tropical flowers. Strange.

Bracing himself for whatever horror might lie inside Crowley opened the hinged lid and then stared at the sight in front of him.

The scene depicted a stage, the curtain behind it yellow. There were ten figurines standing on that stage, five women in the back and then four girls in the front. Four little girls with one blue alien amongst the children to even out the rows. All wore grass skirts with more green stuff on their heads and ankles, the latter drawing Crowley's attention to the fact that odds were...they moved.

Having already noted the dial at the side Crowley prayed for strength and then turned the dial around and around before letting go.

Elvis Presley's 'Burning Love' began to play as the hula girls and alien began to turn around in circles.

A 'Lilo and Stitch' music box.

Aziraphale had gotten him a Disney 'Lilo and Stitch' music box with nine hula girls and Stitch. One of the very few Disney characters Crowley found at all tolerable.

A fact that his angel had not found at all surprising the last time they'd discussed the pros and cons of the Disney corporation and its hold on the world.

Dropping his face into his hands...Crowley was only somewhat successful at drowning out his chuckles as his shoulders shook with mirth.

He couldn't help it.

That angel.

)

Tenth Day of Christmas

Crowley hung the painting on his wall two days before Christmas. He watered his pear tree and considered wearing either of the two items of clothing Aziraphale had sent him before sanity prevailed. Both items were hidden away in drawers and would stay there for the time being. With the ring box. Which he was managing, for the most part, not to think about as he waited to see what Aziraphale had planned for his next present.

Currently Crowley's money was on another shirt. He'd gone online and it seemed to be that or a ridiculous puzzle from Amazon. That seemed to be it when it came to merchandise celebrating that particular day in the poem.

If Aziraphale were more devilish in nature Crowley might have hoped that members of the House of Lords would suddenly start leaping around like frogs. A little divine miracle of the decidedly un angelic sort.

Unfortunately Aziraphale probably wouldn't even think of that, much less do it. And the House of Lords wasn't in session anyway. If ten of them were leaping around their houses like the stupid nitwits that they were it wasn't like they'd want that fact advertised. Or photographed for Crowley's viewing pleasure.

So what would he get instead?

There was also the possibility of food. Crowley had considered something frog themed. Dress it up in fancy clothes and you could pretend it was a lord. Which would be a bit of a cop out, but Aziraphale had to be running low on ideas at this point.

Come to think of it...just how long could the angel have been planning this out? Wouldn't it have taken some serious planning? Of course the angel could perform miracles, so really, anything was possible.

Shaking his head as he remembered the swans, Crowley mused over the creativity Aziraphale had shown until the knock came again at his door.

Show time.

Squaring his shoulder Crowley marched over to his front door to unlocked and open it. He was not expecting to find himself looking at a familiar face. The man from before. The one who'd brought him the four bottles of wine and now held a single bottle of what looked like a really good brand of whiskey to him.

"He sent me liquor again?"

"Not that I know of." The deliveryman said with a sheepish look. "I'm sorry but-well-I told my missus about your gifts. How your friend was sending you one for each day of that poem and she loved it. Was real impressed when I told her what he'd given you so far." A sigh. "Anyway...she's been driving me barmy, she has, speculating as to what else he gave you. Asking my opinion-not that she ever really wants mine if you ask me. I promised her that if I had a delivery near you I'd stop in, ask if you were still getting the gifts to stop the nagging. And I brought you something strong in case you needed it."

Knowing a bribe when he saw one-he was a demon for fuck sakes-Crowley could nonetheless appreciate a good one. And, he realized, a chance to bitch to someone about just what Aziraphale had been sending to him.

So he jerked his head to the side and said, "Come in."

He even held the door open for the man.

"I'm Davey by the way. David Wayfare."

"Anthony Crowley. But just call me Crowley."

"Fair enough."

Once they were inside Crowley pointed the deliveryman towards the couch, telling him to take a seat and he'd grabbed the presents so that the human could see them for himself. He wasn't worried about the man stealing from him. He had very few things worth stealing in the 'public' areas of his home. The majority of them were kept in his bedroom. And if Davey were stupid enough to steal from him, having no idea what Crowley actually was...well then the man's wife would be far too busy caring for a husband stuck in a full body cast to speculate about just what Crowley was getting for Christmas.

Returning once he'd collected the gifts he'd received since the bottles of wine-save for the rings which he had no intention of showing anyone other than Aziraphale once the angel confessed to this whole scheme- Crowley returned to his living room and set the items he carried down on the table.

Naturally everything he'd piled on top of the music box slid off at that point, Crowley no longer exerting any will over the rest to stay in place.

"Figured some of it had to be clothes. Nice boxers." Davey grinned, nodding in the direction of the boxer briefs.

"They're ridiculous, is what they are. Not to mention the sex joke probably went completely over his innocent little head. Believe me, I know. I've been telling him dirty jokes for our entire acquaintance and can probably count on one hand the times he's gotten it."

Looking amused Davey picked up the shirt next, laughing over it once he got a good look at it. "Bloody brilliant, your friend. I would have never thought of this. Good movie too. Way better than that Johnny Depp version. Definitely no Gene Wilder, that's for sure."

"Too right. They don't make actors like they used to."

"They don't make anything like they used to."

Surprised to find a human that realized that Crowley found himself appreciating the man a little bit more. Especially since Davey found the music box just as ridiculously charming as he had. And agreed that the painting was very well done.

"And no rings...too personal?"

About to answer in the affirmative Crowley belatedly figured out what type of rings Davey was implying. The sort of rings that did go around a body part-but not the finger. "No. They were normal rings. Just...personal."

"Right. Cause I got to say, Mate...these don't seem like gifts between friends. More of the romantic sort with the painting and rings."

"You don't know Aziraphale. He might be one of the cleverest...men I've ever known, which again is saying something, but it took decades just to get him to admit that we were best friends. He's never-would never-think me in the romantic sense. Ever."

Even if it had taken millenniums to get Aziraphale to admit they were friends. And the majority of people who met Aziraphale immediately leapt to the conclusion that he was gayer than Elton John.

"Well you'd know im better than-"

The sound of a knock at the door.

"Looks like number ten has arrived."

Sharing a look the two men made their way over to the front door, retrieved the padded manila envelope from the postal person, then went back inside to see what Aziraphale had sent.

The answer?

A black tie depicting robed members of the House of Lords being forced by a demon with a pitchfork to jump into the fires of Hell.

That angel.


	4. Eleventh and Twelfth Day of Christmas

Disclaimer: As always I own nothing but the original characters and the situations the characters find themselves in. Thanks so much for continuing to read and for giving me feedback on my work. It's muchly appreciated and I do read every review you send me!

Note: Sorry this took so long, I was sick for over two weeks and yeah...heavily medicated lol.

Happy Valentine's Day!

Eleventh and Twelfth Day of Christmas

The Eleventh Day

Twas the day before Christmas and all through the city, lots of creatures were stirring, including the mice. In fact Crowley figured that the city's mice-and the rats-were all but dancing in their tiny mouse and ratholes. The coming feasts would mean crumbs everywhere and lots of food being wasted and thrown out eventually when people got sick of eating turkey and stuffing. Crowley smirked to himself thinking about how the cats would be happy, picking the fat rodents off as they fell into food comas alongside the humans. And possibly a literal coma in the case of humans since the overeating, plus the family exposure, might cause people to end up in actual comas. Or the morgue.

Ah, the circle of life.

If he was being honest-something he was loathed to do being a demon and all-Crowley would have had to admit to being hesitant to go out because he didn't want to miss the delivery or deal with the holiday crowds. He wanted to avoid both equally, which was saying something. But in the end Crowley had settled for sending a message to Aziraphale to make sure that the angel knew that Crowley was going to his favorite Korean place for some beef stir-fry for lunch before leacing his place. He'd disguised the message/warning by pretending that he just wanted to send the angel a quick Christmas greeting and 'happened' to mention that he was headed out. It would have to do. He'd had a craving for the stir-fry that couldn't be ignored.

Now belly full and craving satisfied Crowley was in the right frame of mind to wonder just how the hell Aziraphale planned to pull off the whole 'elven pipers piping'.

In the song that would be eleven people playing the flute or a pipe of some sort which would, in reality, drive Crowley to extreme violence in a heartbeat. He was NOT a fan of flute music. Never had, never would be. Plus you'd think that arranging for a group of musicians to come and play for him would be difficult on Christmas Eve.

Though unfortunately not impossible since plenty of musicians were starving. Or didn't celebrate Christmas. Damn.

On the other, more preferable hand Crowley had considered the possibility of eleven actual pipes, which he'd enjoy. Aziraphale might like that idea-thought Aziraphale was also very anti-smoking once word got out how harmful smoking was. The fact that Crowley couldn't die from smoking probably wouldn't factor into the angel's reasoning.

Were plumbers who put in pipes called pipers? No. That would be stupid. On a number of levels. There were birds called pipers though, weren't there? No, those were called sandpipers o that probably wouldn't count. There'd also been a band by that name back in the seventies, maybe?

Pulling out his phone the demon accessed Wikipedia and looked up the word 'piper', going down the list of People, fictional characters, films, artists, songs, video games, biology, places, transportation and other uses.

The biology section indicated that there was a plant called piper. A type of pepper plants and vines. That would be appreciated. He did like spicy food. But would the spiciness be considered 'piping'? Probably not.

Musing over his gift and what it could be the whole way home Crowley arrived at his front door and almost missed the fact that there was another gift bag hanging off his door handle.

"Thank you, Go-Godiva." It was a crap save, but the best Crowley could do as he removed the bag and held it up to eyelevel. It was only slightly bigger than his palm, and obvious wasn't a bunch of musicians. Excellent.

Heading inside, swinging the bag almost merrily, Crowley carried the bag over to his couch and flopped down onto it, staring at the bag for a minute or so before reaching in to retrieve...what?

Pulling the object out Crowley stared at the item wrapped in bright snowman paper. A...CD or DVD? That's what the shape of it reminded the demon of.

"Crap. Maybe flute music after all." Damn.

Ripping off the paper Crowley found himself staring at a clear case that revealed the CD within through the plastic. It looked like one of those CDs people bought from a stationary or other business supply shops back in the nineties. Turning the case around in his hands Crowley found himself looking at the piece of paper inserted there to list-eleven songs. With the names of bands Crowley actually recognized.

The Cranberries. Linkin Park. AC/DC. Queen. What the Hell?!

The bands were all neatly listed, then the song. And now that he was really looking at it there was slightly smaller print listing the-the cover artist?

Confused, but curious enough to risk his ears, Crowley got to his feet and then walked over to his desk to retrieve his laptop where he'd left it. Thankfully it was a model that still took discs. Something old fashion loving Aziraphale might not have even realized could be an issue.

He probably should be glad the angel hadn't made him a mixtape. Though he could have played that too. It would just make skipping over songs harder if necessary.

Bringing up the music Crowley had only a moment to wonder and then the first song started playing automatically.

The Cranberries song 'Zombie'. Played...on bagpipes.

He recognized the song of course, just as he recognized Johnny Cash's 'Ring of Fire' when that followed the first song. As if he wouldn't recognize any of the Man in Black's songs.

Flipping through the songs, he'd listen to each one individually after, Crowley instead focused on confirming the fact that yes, each of the rock songs on the homemade CD were instrumentals...played on the bagpipes.

"I don't even like bagpipes! Though they are better than bloody flutes."

And these were all excellent covers. The novelty more than anything else made Crowley laugh and shake him head in fond amusement.

"What will he think of next?"

Hold on...this was the second last one. Tomorrow would be the last present. The last...what would happen after Christmas Day? Would Aziraphale reveal it was him or play dumb because he was under the delusion that it wasn't frightfully obvious he was behind all this? Would he expect him to confront him with the truth, confirming their bond, or would he be disappointed that Crowley had figured it out? And there was still that fifth ring somewhere, waiting to be sprung on him when he least expected it.

Crowley wasn't sure why, but suddenly in his mind he was picturing Aziraphale showing up with a golden brown doughnut as a present instead of an actual ring. That would have been genius, actually. Save for the fact that Crowley much preferred the actual rings and the idea that he and Aziraphale would share matching ones. Once he gave two of them to Aziraphale. Eventually. Tomorrow?

"Damn. Figuring out how to deal with the Anti-Christ was easier than this."

)

Twelfth Day of Christmas

Crowley spent Christmas Day morning as he had for the last decade or so. Aka sprawled out on his couch with buttery popcorn while binge watching the first three Home Alone movies. That's what Christmas meant to him. Junk food and watching stupid adults be utterly schooled by a possibly psychopath in the making. You could only be traumatized by your family, and to a lesser extent the homicidal thieves bent on making you pay for your twisted, should have killed them dead traps, before you ended up just as twisted.

Just look at Macaulay Culkin and all he'd gone through. And he'd just played the kid in the first two movies.

Stretching out as his thoughts turned to child actors and how often they went over to the Dark Side-like shooting fish in a barrel sometimes-Crowley started to shake his head, only to freeze like a deer in headlights at the sound of a knock at his door.

"What the Hell?" It was far too early for a delivery. Especially on Christmas bloody Day. All his other deliveries had come around lunch time or later. It wasn't even ten thirty yet.

The knocking came again, Crowley suddenly knowing in his gut exactly who he would find on the other side of his door. No delivery person this time.

Setting aside his over half full bowl on the table and spilling some in his haste, Crowley swiped a hand through his messy, unstyled hair and cursed that fact and his appearance as he hurried towards his door. Thankfully he could snap his fingers so that he went from sweats and a very old band T-shirt to one of his preferred all black ensembles, his hair also appropriately styled as he unlocked and then opened his door to see that he'd been right.

"Hello, Angel."

"Happy Christmas!" Aziraphale beamed at him, the angel wearing one of his all white suits. Though the vest on this one featured a subtle pattern of silver snowflakes on it that was both Christmasy and very Aziraphale.

Leaning against his doorway, trying to look as nonchalant as possible, Crowley worked up a devilish grin. "I was wondering if I'd see you today."

"Oh?"

His angel had no poker face whatsoever.

"Have you come to bring great tidings of great joy?"

"Ah...oh, right. No. I mean yes! I mean...well I hope my dropping by isn't an inconvenience."

"Nah. Come in."

Stepping aside to let the angel pass by him Crowley covertly looked the other man over for signs of his final present but seeing none. And that suit was definitely tailored tight enough that a package would show. So what was the plan for his twelve drummers drumming? God, he hoped Aziraphale wasn't planning to drag him outside for some strange concert or something.

"You didn't decorate for-well of course you didn't. Christmas has never really been your thing, has it." Fidgeting with his fingers Aziraphale was looking all around him like a mouse scenting the cat as Crowley closed the door behind them.

"Not really my team's sort of thing. Former team, anyway. So what brings you by, Angel?"

Like he didn't already know.

"Well I...you see I...oh bother. You know I'm the one who's been sending you the presents, right? You were giving me such looks before, at the park, and when I asked their opinions both Newt and Anathema said you'd know immediately it was me."

Crowley couldn't have stopped his lips from twitching in amusement if he'd tried.

"I did figure it out eventually, yeah."

Sighing somewhat dejectedly, his cheeks noticeably pinker than usual, Aziraphale wrung his hands a little as he asked if Crowley was angry at him.

"Nah. Though I did wonder why. Also there's one more present coming, right?"

Perking up Aziraphale nodded eagerly. "There is. And it was most difficult, I must say. I really had to wrack my brain for the last three."

"So twelve drummers drumming?"

"Yes." Reaching into his pocket Aziraphale withdrew a single piece of folded up paper, holding it out to Crowley with almost childish excitement and nerves.

Taking the paper Crowley unfolded it and then opened it up to see that on the paper, typed out in font that suggested a typewriter had been employed, was a list of what appeared to be twelve schools.

"Schools?"

"Yes. I donated twelve drum sets to twelve schools here in London. Thus generations of children will learn to play them at school and then possibly go home and get their parents to buy them their own. That is the instrument parents most dread their children taking up, isn't it?"

It took a moment for that to sink in. And when it did Crowley just stared at the angel, words beyond him.

"You...you don't like it?" Aziraphale's face fell. "I...I thought it would appeal to you. The evilness of it. Well, all right, it's not terribly evil, I admit it. But I'm an Angel, Crowley. You know doing mean things is-is against my very nature! But I thought of it as being like that ghastly motorway from Hell you created. And drums are very annoying, especially when they aren't being played properly. And if a student ends up being a good one then odds are in they'll end up in some horrible band and get into drugs and other nasty vices while they try to get famous and then that will be one more person for your side, yes? Oh bother. I knew I should have just hired twelve drummers to walk around the neighborhood banging on the blasted things to annoy everyone but-but it's Christmas, Crowley, and how could I-mmph."

Later Crowley would shake his head over that whole little speech, but his brain had pretty much shut down at that point and so he was operating on instinct.

Hence the fact that he'd just grabbed Aziraphale by his lapels and hauled him in for a thank you kiss.

And of course Aziraphale tasted of happiness, sunshine and sugar. Of course he did.

So soft too. And so adorable in the way his angel so sweetly and hesitantly sighed into the kiss and relaxed against him, Aziraphale's hands coming up to rest on his shoulders.

Letting go of Aziraphale's suit Crowley lowered his arms so that he could wrap them around the angel, the shudder that went through Aziraphale's body enough of a shock to Crowley's system that his brain reengaged enough to panic.

Pulling back with a gasp Crowley stared into Aziraphale's eyes, the need to apologize warring with the fact that Aziraphale didn't look at all upset with him. And more importantly wasn't trying to get away from him.

So they stood there like a couple of idiots for several minutes instead.

"You...there's not mistletoe, is there?"

"What?"

"Is that why you-is there mistletoe somewhere?" To emphasis his point Aziraphale tilted his head up and looked around for the plant in question before shyly going back to meeting Crowley's gaze.

"No." Crowley managed to croak out. "No mistletoe."

"Oh." The pink of Aziraphale's cheeks darkened, the shy and pleased little smile that curved those cupid lips doing terrible things to Crowley's heart. "So you-you kissed me because you...you wanted to?"

The best Crowley could manage was a nod. He was pretty sure he was blushing now too, damn it.

"And you wouldn't...be opposed to doing that again. Perhaps?"

It took longer than it probably should have for that to sink in.

"Yes? If you like."

"Yes, please."

There was really only one thing to say to that...

"Fuck. Happy Christmas to me."

The End

P.S. Crowley did get his fifth ring eventually. He just had to wait until Valentine's Day the following year.

He said yes.


End file.
